


Through the Night

by lazarus_girl



Series: Saudade Series [4]
Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:51:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus_girl/pseuds/lazarus_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Kisses were her way of telling Emily that she loved her before she could say it.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [15genres1prompt](http://15genres1prompt.livejournal.com). Genre: Romance. Prompt: Lost. Inspired by the Ren Harvieu song ['Through the Night'](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6KgP7ilJDHQ)
> 
> Set immediately after 3x09, “Katie and Emily."

_I love you too._

The moment she said the words, a weight she didn’t know she’d been carrying suddenly lifted. She felt rather proud of herself. Proud of Emily too.

Even so, the enormity of it doesn’t hit her until the college is far behind them. She said it. She told Emily the truth. She told her four simple, yet life changing words that have been rattling round her head for months. Contrary to her worst imaginings, the sky didn’t fall in, the world didn’t spin off its or drop into a black hole. There was nothing like that at all, but there was the best reply she ever could’ve gotten. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Emily smile, but it wasn’t just _any_ smile, it was a smile that said ‘I’m proud of you,’ ‘I always knew,’ and ‘I thought I’d never hear you say that,’ all at once.

After seeing her put everything out there like that, in front of the whole fucking college, she couldn’t hide from her. How could she when Emily had been so brave and honest, all without really knowing if those feelings were returned? But then, Emily’s always had more faith in her than she’s ever had in herself.

It’s a relief, now that it’s all out in the open, because it feels like she has one less thing less to fight against, and in its place is one more thing to fight for. The idea of what they could be is exciting, but at the same time, it’s terrifying, because she knows Emily has expectations, that _everyone_ will have expectations, and she doesn’t know if she can live up to any of them. She’s let Emily down before, and she’s painfully aware that she could do it again.

Emily must think she’s a risk worth taking.

***

They’re walking hand in hand down the road, making slow progress with no real idea of where they’re going, only that they’re going together. _Together_. She likes how that sounds, how the word feels in her mouth.

Emily’s hand squeezes hers, and it pulls her from her thoughts.

“Chips?”

She laughs, because that’s the last thing she expected her to say, but at the same time, it feels appropriate. None of this has been remotely conventional. Swept off her feet she might’ve been, but Jane Austen this isn’t. They’ve gone about all of this arse backwards. Sex first, I love you’s later. They’ve never even been on a date. Keith’s shitty pub quiz doesn’t count, they just happened to be in the same place at the same time. She nods, and reluctantly letting go of Emily’s hand and stepping inside.

The queue’s quite long, even for this time of night, and she feels ridiculous, stood there waiting in her dress while everyone else is in tracksuits and jeans. It’s not late enough for the Uni students back from the clubs in town – girls in heels and mini dresses, with their over-gelled boyfriends in button-downs and chinos – rolling up in search of kebabs. Even then, she’d be overdressed. She’s getting strange looks all round, as if they just _know_ something major has happened. She ignores them, shoving away the panic that rises up, and watches Emily waiting outside, hugging herself against the cold and half-heartedly hopping from foot to foot. She can’t help but smile, and think it was all worth it, no matter what the cost ends up being.

When Emily smiles back and gives a little wave, she’s lost for a moment, until the bloke behind the counter barks a ‘Yes love,’ and she remembers what she’s supposed to be doing.

It’s always been like that with Emily, but she’s never allowed herself to give in to it, until now.

***

Ten minutes later, they’re huddled together on a bench with the chips between them, shared along with a can of Coke. She grabbed two tiny folks on the way out in a futile attempt to make things a little more respectable, but they haven’t used them. Again, this isn’t what she imagined when she let her mind run riot and allowed herself to imagine things like dinner with Emily, but it’s perfect in its own way. If she let herself pretend money was no object, then it was always somewhere classy, a proper restaurant with wine and a menu, like Greens Dining Room. If she was being realistic, then it was McDonalds, eat in, with coffee and an apple pie, if she could run to it.

She doesn’t want to be the one to ask the question, but it’s just there, hanging in the air between them, and it’s getting harder to ignore. She licks her lips, tasting salt and too much vinegar, trying to think of a way to phrase it that doesn’t sound like she think Emily’s lying, but nothing feels right. Since honesty has worked well so far, she goes with it again.

“Did you mean it?”

Emily turns to her, brows furrowed, chip stalling halfway to her mouth. “Mean what?”

She looks down, picking at her nail varnish and feeling her cheeks grow hot. “What you said,” she pauses. “At the ball, to Katie.” Now she’s said it out loud, it sounds ridiculous and needy.

“Of course I did,” Emily replies softly. “I do,” she corrects. Then, there’s a rustling of paper, the chips are discarded, and she moves closer, taking her hand. “I don’t usually tell people I love them if I don’t mean it.”

It’s said in that same, soft, concerned tone when they spoke this morning at the lockers. The one that undoes her completely.

She lets herself look at Emily finally, fighting the tight feeling in her throat, and the surge of emotions causing it. “OK,” she replies, reaching to take Emily’s hand and threading their fingers together.

It’s a bold move, but once it happens, she feels better again. Settled.

***

The temperature’s dropped a bit now, and they’re even closer together, sharing her last cigarette. Emily’s curled into her side, like she was made to fit there. It’s a nice feeling, and she wonders why she wasted so much time fooling herself into thinking this _wasn’t_ what she wanted when the reverse was true.

Wanting something too much is as bad as wanting something too little.

Emily exhales a long plume of smoke and announces, “I don’t think I can go home …” she flicks away the cigarette, too little left to smoke. “Once they find out …”

Her heart sinks. The consequences of it all are creeping in already. Emily has so much more to lose than she does. Her mum won’t even blink when she finds out, but Emily’s probably won’t even acknowledge her again. Here, on this little bench, exiled, halfway home, she’s been able to forget about the flurries of texts and phone calls that have gone unanswered. About Katie and what’s been said to Emily’s parents when she arrived home without her. She’s only met Jenna once and that was enough. They don’t gel, they’re never going to either. She can’t do anything about that, but she can give Emily somewhere to escape to.

“So come home with me,” she shrugs, because it’s an easy answer. “Stay with me,” she qualifies, needlessly, feeling her mouth go dry.

A smile spreads across Emily’s face at her words.

Before she can say anything else, she feels the slats of the bench pressing into he back, and Emily’s hands are cupping her face, and she kisses her softly, once, twice, as if she’s testing things, and it takes her a few seconds for her brain to catch up and kiss back. Now Emily knows everything, it feels different, and even better than it already did, like some missing piece has slotted into place somewhere in her body.

Kisses were her way of telling Emily that she loved her before she could say it.

***

It takes them a while to get home, but Emily doesn’t complain once, even though she’s not wearing any shoes. She tried to make Emily take hers at one point, but she wouldn’t. As a last ditch attempt to help her, she even suggested giving her a piggy back ride, like Cook does whenever the heels of their shoes break off. Emily laughed, and called her ‘chivalrous,’ but politely refused. Her heart flew to her throat in an instant, and she looked away, embarrassed.

She fumbles with the keys twice, and Emily giggles, taking them from her and opening the door with ease on the first try. She shakes her head, feeling silly, remembering the last time they came through this door, mere hours ago. Emily pushed her against it the second it closed, and they kissed urgently, desperate and needy – and it _was_ need, the kind of need that makes her ache and only Emily can sate – as they clumsily undressed each other, stumbling up the stairs, neither daring to take a moment to breathe. If they breathed, they’d stop. If they stopped, they’d think, and the worst things happen when she allows herself to think. Malevolent things like doubt creep in, unfounded and unannounced. Everything’s better when she lets her guard drop and acts instead.

The house is dark, and no one seems to be awake. Thankfully. The last thing she wants is to be set upon by her mum, full of questions, wanting to know every tiny detail of the evening, because she’s adored Emily from the second they met and has been intent on them getting together ever since. She loves her mum, of course she does, but she could do without her interruptions and none-too-subtle comments. It’s embarrassing, and she can get to that point perfectly well on her own.

It’s so dark in fact, that she can barely see Emily, she’s just a small shape. The longer they stand still, the more conscious she becomes that this sleepover won’t be about sleeping. In fact, given that this _isn’t_ the first time Emily will have stayed or indeed that they’ve slept together, she’s got no fucking idea why she’s so nervous. It’s just Emily, and she’s been nothing but patient with her, never once forcing her into anything. Maybe it’s because Emily’s _hers_ now, and it’s real and proper, that she feels this way? Love always means more somehow.

“Do you want?” she asks, cautious and polite, cursing herself internally for being such an idiot.

“Yes,” is all Emily says, and she can hear the lightness in her voice, knowing she’s smiling even though she can’t actually see it.

***

Embarrassing moment number thirty-nine thousand happens when they finally get upstairs, and she remembers that her room looks like a bomb’s hit it. OK, so Emily knows she’s not exactly a tidy person, but she doesn’t want her to think she’s a slob either. They’re still in the mysterious and interesting phase, not even close to the honeymoon period, and she wants to keep it that way.

“Sorry about the mess,” she says, as she leads Emily through the door, kicking off her heels as she snaps on the light.

It’s too bright.

Emily chuckles. “It’s alright,” she says as she picks up one of the other dresses and holds it against herself. “Always good to have options.”

She hates that everything’s rushed and clumsy. After wanting this for so long, it feels like all the opportunities to do things properly are disappearing before she realises. Just once, she wants it to be perfect. She wants it to be what she’s dreamt for so many nights. So, she takes a breath, calms herself, and thinks. It’s supposed to be about setting mood, so they say. Soft lighting and music, rose petals, all that. There’s an art to romance that she hasn’t quite mastered. She still has a lot to learn. Roses she can’t do, but clever lighting and good music, she can. She smiles, feeling her nervousness dissipate again.

Hurrying across the room, she picks her way through fifty-odd discarded outfits before she gets to her desk lamp and turns it on. It has a warmer glow than the ceiling light, dimmed by an orange silk scarf from brought back from her mum’s travels in India. Then, she hurries across to turn off the main light, leaving them both bathed in the lamp light instead. Next, she goes to her iPod and searches for her go-to playlist and sets the volume low, just enough to hear, but not so loud they can’t be heard themselves. It’s made up of the mellow, folksy stuff that Emily loves and she’s come to appreciate. It’s a work in progress, full of Bon Iver, Fleet Foxes, Mumford & Sons, First Aid Kit, The Weepies, and Blitzen Trapper – put together from Emily’s recommendations. They aren’t all love songs, not in the classic ‘I love you’ sense, but she feels love all the same whenever the melodies ring around her bedroom, and the lyrics stir up memories and emotions that she tried not to name.

When she finally turns her attention back to Emily, she’s standing there, head tilted, taking her in like she’s never seen her before.

“I meant to say, when we were at the Ball,” she begins, stepping closer, eyes roaming her body, “you look beautiful.”

She swallows hard, running a hand through her hair as blinks back her surprise. “Thanks …” and then, more confidently, “So do you.”

Emily’s cheeks flush, and she smiles in that shy Emily way that never fails to make her remember that party, the MDMA and the way it heightened everything from the thudding music drifting up to them in the bedroom to that first brief – ridiculously brief – kiss they shared in the darkness.

It feels like ten minutes and ten years ago at the same time.

“You know what else I wanted to do?” Emily says, threading her arms around her neck loosely, closing the space between them.

The air is suddenly charged with that same nervous, heavy energy she’s always felt whenever they’re near each other. She moves closer still, her hands ghosting near Emily’s hips, scant space between them. “What?” she replies, barely above a whisper.

“I wanted to dance with you. Really dance.”

Emily’s words make her breath hitch.

“I’m, erm, not very good at it.”

“It’s easy.” Emily says, with a smile, and takes her hand.

It’s awkward at first, and she takes a moment to settle, unsure how close to stand, which way she could move, or where to put her other hand. She wishes she remembered how the ladies looked in those old black and white Hollywood films that Emily loves so much.

“Close your eyes. Let go,” she continues, her voice growing soft again.

The world falls away entirely, and it doesn’t matter that they’re in the middle of her untidy bedroom, just swaying holding each other, not _dancing_ because neither of them are anything like Fred and Ginger, and they’re nowhere near a ballroom. It doesn’t even matter that Mumford  & Sons is playing, full of energy, speeding along at twice the rhythm they move at, their bodies pressed close together, because this is _exactly_ what she imagined when she thought of how this night would go, except, it’s better, because it’s real and it’s hers. Emily lifts her head slowly, and she tips hers down, knowing they’ll kiss, and that dreamy light-as-air feeling that she’s always hearing so much about rushes her at the thought of it. The second their lips _do_ meet, she almost forgets to breathe.

Their kisses are slow and tender at first, as if they’re finding each other again, but they deepened quickly. Easily. Naturally. One runs into the next, and Emily’s mouth starts to drift across her jaw and adown neck, leaving a hot, wet trail behind. She lets out a half sigh, half moan of contentment and claims something back for herself, catching Emily’s bottom lip between both of hers and sucks it in, deepening the kiss, sliding her tongue into Emily’s mouth. She’s wanted to kiss her like this ever since she saw her outside on the college steps. Emily moans, and she feels her hand drift down, nearing the corset laces at the back of her dress. She inhales sharply, surprised, and Emily pulls back, breaking the kiss.

They stop moving.

Emily’s eyes are full of concern. “Don’t you want?” she asks, carefully, cradling her face with a hand.

“Yes,” she pauses, swallows, throat suddenly dry, and the room suddenly much smaller again. “Yes, I want … you.”

She lets out a long breath. It feels like a confession of another kind.

Emily’s mouth quirks into a smile, and then she reaches up, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

“We’ve got all night.” Emily studies her face, considers. “It’s OK," she continues, stroking her cheek. “Don’t be nervous.”

Her heart rams in her chest, and she’s overcome. She can’t do anything but nod. Emily holds her gaze for a moment, as if she might say something else, but doesn’t, kissing her again instead. She relaxes into it immediately, relinquishing control, trusting her completely.

Emily leads her back toward the bed with soft, coaxing kisses, one for every step. Once her legs brush against the frame, Emily reluctantly breaks the kiss, and they begin to undress each other. Her nervousness kicks in, betraying her in the shake of her hands, but it goes again when Emily takes them in her own and kisses them, like she’s royalty of some kind.

This time, there’s no roughness, no desperation, no frenzy to be free of clothes. Instead, they take pleasure in revealing more to each other, in a slow, careful kind of striptease. Lying together on top of the duvet, hands roaming, mapping and memorising skin, they kiss with the same unhurried ease, like they have all the time in the world. Whenever they’re together, that feels possible. The hours stretch into infinity, and tomorrow is a far off place, dim and distant, that she doesn’t need to trouble herself with.


End file.
